


The Artful Dodger

by justacookieofacumberbatch (buffyholic)



Series: Don Armie & his Sweet Tea [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-07 00:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14659506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffyholic/pseuds/justacookieofacumberbatch
Summary: Armie sees an intriguing young man on the subway. What could possibly happen next?





	1. Chapter 1

Armie was hailing a cab when he first saw him, just a flash of dark curls and pale skin in a hoodie and slim-fit jeans disappearing down the stairs to the subway. He was supposed to be meeting his girlfriend for dinner in an hour--she had been shopping or sightseeing or something while Armie had conducted business--but he dropped his hand and followed. He couldn’t put his finger on why. Something in his gut just told him that this was someone worth following.

By the time he reached the subway platform, he realized why. Sure, the man with the curls was young, striking, slim, just the type of man Armie would usually go for on the rare occasion that he did, but that wasn’t it. On the surface, Curls was tapping away at his phone, engrossed in a text conversation or Twitter fight as he leaned against a pillar, but Armie spotted the quick, purposeful glances. They went straight for men in suits, those who were distracted, who were more genuinely engrossed in their phones.

Armie kept his distance, watching outside Curls’ sphere of notice until he picked a mark. He was subtle. Even Armie, who knew exactly what to look for, almost missed it. Curls didn’t move from his spot or even put away his phone, nothing to telegraph his intention. The only change Armie saw in his behavior was that his occasional fleeting glances hit the same place twice in a row. He didn’t even pocket his phone as the train arrived, as the doors opened, as he fell in step behind his mark.

Armie entered the car through the next door down and clasped an overhead bar, facing the window, watching Curls in the reflection. It was amazing. He blended right in, looking just like a university student headed to class. Casual without being too sharp or sloppy. Backpack slung low and scuffed on the bottom, heavy enough to appear to be holding a laptop or textbooks. He’d worn the hood of his jacket on the sidewalks and platform, but he’d pushed it down before entering the train. He held onto an overhead bar with one hand, right next to his mark, as he continued to scroll through something on his phone with the thumb of his other hand, holding his bottom lip between his teeth.

In fact, he was so good that Armie started to wonder if he’d gotten it wrong. Maybe this was just a student. Maybe he just liked suits. Maybe he was getting close to graduation and he was keeping an eye out for styles, trying to decide which type to buy for upcoming interviews. Maybe he just found his “mark” attractive.

But two stops later, a few seconds after the doors had slid open, he asked a person sitting near him, “Wait. What stop is this?”

“West Fourth Street.”

“Shit.” His hand dropped from the overhead bar as he rushed for the door, and if Armie had blinked, he would have missed the wallet in Curls’ hand as he shoved both into his hoodie pockets and rushed out of the car.

Armie stepped out onto the platform.

He kept his distance, following Curls up the stairs to street level, across Washington Square Park, and into Grey Art Gallery. Curls fished an ID card from his back pocket and handed it to a teal-haired woman at the admissions desk, who peeked in his bag and waved him through.

Armie pulled his wallet from his suit jacket, assuring that the pistol under his arm was well hidden, and paid his five-dollar admission with a credit card, though he made sure a few bills peeked out the top of his wallet before slipping it into his back pocket. The girl barely paid him any mind. Really, they should be ashamed of their security protocol. No metal detector?

He strolled into the gallery, peeking into the first couple of exhibits as nonchalantly as he could, as if he were merely considering whether the pieces were worth his attention, not trying to lure an intriguing young man into picking his pocket. Finally, he spotted Curls sitting on the floor near a large painting of a man in a wheat field encouraging citizens to buy war bonds. He still wore his hoodie and earbuds, but his backpack covered his crossed legs, and propped on top of it was a sketchbook.

So, he was a student _and_ a thief. Interesting.

Though Curls was to the right of the room’s entrance, Armie took a left, settling in front of the wall opposite his target, facing three panels of bright, pastoral printed fabrics. He scratched at his stubble before slipping his hands into his front trouser pockets, assuring his suit jacket was hiked enough to reveal the top of his pocket, that the trousers were pulled taut enough to show the outline of his wallet. He struggled not to smirk, fingers tingling with anticipation, as he tried to imagine how Curls would react to being caught out. Judging by his technique, it was sure to be uncommon, and Armie wondered if it had ever happened before.

When a few minutes had passed without Curls making a move, Armie started to worry that the boy was better at resisting temptation than Armie had expected. He pivoted on one heel, chewing his lower lip in an sham of consideration of the art on the other walls, glancing at Curls long enough to see that his head was buried in his sketchpad. Armie ambled over to a display case and bowed his head over it, though his eyes were focused either through his lashes or through his periphery on the the boy on the ground.

After a moment, Curls looked up, his line of sight nowhere near Armie. He was looking at a painting on a display wall bisecting the room. So, as soon as Curls returned his gaze to his sketchpad, Armie moved in front of it, resuming his previous posture.

This time, it didn’t take long for Curls to approach. Tugging out his earbuds, he tapped on Armie’s shoulder with his knuckle. “Hey, man. Would you mind scooting over a little? I’m trying to sketch this painting.”

Armie’s mouth tried to twist, and he nodded. “Sure.”

When he turned away, he was unsurprised to feel a firm pat on his shoulder, a little too long for a typical touch between strangers. “Thanks ma--”

Armie snatched Curls’ free hand behind his back, and fingers dug into his shoulder as Curls tried to jerk away. _Good luck with that._

Armie spun, quick enough to force Curls to drop Armie’s shoulder. He smiled, tugging his wallet from the boy’s hand. “Hello.”

“What are you doing?” He tried to jerk his hand away again, swallowing hard, his face beet red. God, he was stunning. 

Armie gripped tighter, hard enough to feel the ridges of delicate wrist bones digging into his fingers. He returned his wallet to the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “You’re really quite talented.”

Curls glanced over at his things still lying on the floor, his half-finished drawing on top.

“Not that.” Armie patted the wallet in his pocket. “This. I doubt I would have noticed if I hadn’t known it was coming. Nice approach, too. Natural. Not too memorable.”

Curls furrowed his brow. “Thanks?”

Armie smirked. “A bit rash, though, don’t you think? I mean, what was your exit strategy?”

Curls glanced around like the room somehow held answers.

“That’s not rhetorical.”

Curls twisted his hand in Armie’s grip. “That hurts.”

“Then stop fighting.”

The pulse under Armie’s fingers raced. “Look. I’m sorry. All right?”

Armie chuckled. He couldn’t quite resist running the tip of his index finger across Curls’ wrist. “I’m not mad.”

Curls glanced at their hands, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, his top teeth scraping it on its way out. He lifted his gripped arm, and Armie let him. “Then what’s this?”

Armie dropped the boy’s wrist, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets and rocking on his heels as he cocked his head towards the doorway. “Let’s have a drink.”

Curls burst into laughter. “What?”

The corner of Armie’s mouth twitched. “You heard me.”

Curls crossed his arms, thumbs hooked into the sleeves of his hoodie. “What if I’m not into men?”

Armie chuckled, tucking his chin as he rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb. “For one thing, straight men don’t answer like that. For another, I offered a drink, not a fuck.”

***

Curls--or Timmy, as Armie found out on the way--chose the bar, a place just a couple blocks from the art gallery, an underground college dive with low ceilings and brick walls. Timmy led the way in, picking two seats together near the far end of the bar.

He handed Armie a menu from a rack on the bar. “You know, Bob Dylan used to hang out here.”

Armie took the menu, glanced at both sides, and set it down. “That so.”

Timmy nodded, drumming his palms on the bartop before sending a half-hearted salute down the bar.

The bartender approached, raising his hand to Timmy for a high five, though instead they clasped hands and patted each other’s shoulders. “Tim, my man. It’s been a while. How’s tricks?”

Timmy gripped the edge of the bar and leaned back, stretching his arms. “Good, man. Good.” He yanked himself back in and propped his elbows on the bar. “Could I get a…” He turned to Armie. “You paying?”

Armie nodded.

Timmy grinned, biting one side of his bottom lip, a wicked glint in his eye. “Glenlivet Eighteen, on the rocks.”

“Neat,” Armie corrected.

Timmy raised a brow at him.

“I’m not letting you do that to an eighteen-year-old scotch.”

The bartender raised his brows to Timmy in question.

Timmy swept out his hand. “You heard the man.”

The bartender nodded. “And for you?”

“Whatever IPA you’ve got on tap.”

Timmy spun in his chair as the bartender left, twirling a lock of hair by his temple, his elbow still propped on the bar. “So what is it that you want?”

Armie chuckled. “Direct, aren’t you?”

Timmy shrugged in non-answer, spinning back to the bar as the bartender brought the drinks.

Armie set his feet on the lower rung of Timmy’s stool, leaning in as he grabbed his glass. “How long have you been doing that?”

“What, picking pockets?”

“Yes.” Armie sipped his drink.

“Since I was sixteen, so”--he brought his glass to his mouth, wetting his lips with the scotch and licking it off as he eyed Armie--”eight years.”

Armie chuckled, shaking his head. “Try again.”

Timmy shook his head, avoiding Armie’s eye contact as he took another small sip of his scotch.

“Are you at least old enough to drink?”

Timmy smirked before finally looking at Armie askance. “Do you care?”

Armie drummed his fingers on the bartop, sliding them into Timmy’s personal space. “To an extent.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Timmy watching whatever sporting event was on the television nearest to them. Armie watched Timmy, watched him slip tiny sips of scotch into his mouth, trying to pretend he was old hat at it. He watched Timmy swallow, lick his lips as he set the glass down again, the glass clinking and scraping against the wood. At the flash of a picture of his own fingers stroking down Timmy’s throat, pressing into either side of his Adam’s apple, Armie looked away.

“I am, for what it’s worth.” Timmy said near Armie’s ear, making him flinch. “Old enough to drink.”

“Good. The last thing I need is to expose myself.”

Timmy glanced down to Armie’s groin. “Not here, anyway.”

Armie leaned in, smile showing his canines. “You’re shameless.”

Timmy didn’t reply, though he was obviously quite pleased with himself, suppressing a smile as he attempted to sip his drink.

“What else do you do for money? Picking pockets can’t pay the rent.”

Timmy spun in his chair, bumping their knees. “If you wanna fuck, you don’t have to pay me.”

Armie laughed. God, he wanted to touch. “That’s an abrupt change in attitude.”

“I thought you were gonna beat my ass back there.”

Armie took a gulp from his beer, dropping his feet from Timmy’s stool to face the bar. “That really isn’t why I asked you here.”

Timmy scoffed. “Then what is it?”

Armie jutted his chin towards Timmy’s backpack on the seat next to him. “Can I see what you were drawing?”

Timmy tore open the zipper, pulled out the sketchbook, and dropped it on the bar in front of Armie, all without breaking eye contact. “Knock yourself out.”

Armie did a quick flip through, mostly pencil drawings, until he reached the sketch of the painting.

“It would have been better, but I was interrupted.” Timmy poked his tongue to the corner of his mouth.

Armie cleared his throat, determined to hide his urge to snatch the tongue between his teeth. “Is this what you’re studying?”

Timmy shook his head. “I’m not in school.”

“But you showed an ID at the gallery.”

“I graduated in Ma-- Hang on. Did you follow me?”

Armie shrugged. “I saw you lift a wallet in the subway. I was intrigued.”

Timmy didn’t look like he bought it. “Sure.”

“Do you think I try to get everybody to steal my wallet?”

“Why _did_ you do that?”

Armie cocked his head, peering away to sip from his beer. “Like I said. I was intrigued.”

“Bullshit.” The bartender came by and dropped off a small piece of paper, folded in half.

Armie turned back, propping his elbow on the bar. “Why is that bullshit?”

“You have an ulterior motive. I thought you just wanted to sleep with me, but apparently not.” Timmy picked up the paper and looked at it. “So what is it?”

“How else do you make your living?”

Timmy slipped the paper into his hoodie pocket. “I have my ways. You?”

Armie raised his brows. “I have my ways.”

Timmy chuckled. “Yeah. Sorry. Don’t wanna join your gang or whatever.” He shot the rest of his scotch and slammed it to the bartop as he hopped out of his seat. Grabbing his backpack, he zipped the sketchbook into it and threw it over his shoulder. “See ya.”

Armie grabbed his wrist. “Where are you going?”

Timmy pushed against Armie’s grip enough lean his own hand against the bar, swaying closer to Armie’s stool. “That’s a bad habit you’ve got there.”

Armie’s gaze raked up Timmy’s arm, his sharp shoulder bones, his freckled neck, his bitten lips close enough to touch. Armie’s heart raced. He squeezed a little harder to feel the rapid pulse under his fingers, enraptured that Timmy did nothing to stop him. If anything, he shifted a little closer. God, the boy even smelled good, especially with the sweet smoky scotch on his breath. _Fuck._ “You don’t seem too bothered by it.”

Timmy smirked, wiggling his hand out from Armie’s grip, murmuring as he walked away, “Tease.”

Armie scrambled up from his seat, well aware that he was looking entirely undignified, but he couldn’t stand for Timmy to walk away just yet. He waited until Timmy turned down a narrow hall at the end of the bar before speaking. “Tim.”

Timmy paused, head drooping and shaking as he chuckled, and then he turned. “I’m not changing my mind. I have no interest in working for anyone.”

“That’s not why I asked you here.”

Timmy threw up his hands just a bit, like the conversation was either too tiring or too inconsequential to bother lifting his arms any more. “Then why did you?”

Armie opened his mouth. Paused. Frowned. Scratched his nape. Finally, he shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Timmy bit his bottom lip, slowly dragging it out from between his teeth as he regarded Armie. “Still want to know how I make my money?”

“Sure.”

“You got two grand?”

Armie gave him the side eye, drawling, “Yeah.”

“On you? You don’t have to hit up an ATM or something?”

“What are you getting at?”

Timmy smirked. “I’m just going to assume that’s a yes.”

And he walked off.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Timmy reached a door at the end of the hallway, a grey nondescript thing with a tiny window at eye level, and held it open for Armie. “After you.”

Armie crossed his arms. “I don’t think so.”

Timmy tutted. “Such trust issues.”

But, he walked through the door, sliding his hand along it as he walked to keep it open long enough for Armie to follow. Inside was a storeroom, boxes full of liquor bottles, cooking oil, and condiments lining the wall, and in the middle were two card tables shoved together, with five people sitting around it.

“Hey guys.” Timmy grabbed a folding chair from a rack on the wall and snapped it open. “This is Armie. Can he squeeze in?”

A woman, who was shuffling cards, nodded, while the others scooted to make room. Meanwhile, Timmy slid the empty chair into the new space, hung his backpack over the back of the vacant chair next to it, and fished out his wallet.

Armie reached for his own as he strode to the table. “This is why you were asking about the two grand?”

Timmy tossed his money on the table and pocketed his own wallet. “Yep.”

Armie sighed as he sat and pulled the money from his wallet. “What are we playing?”

“Texas Hold ‘Em,” said the woman who’d shuffled, who now pulled chips from a metal case.

“All right.” Armie let his money fall to the table, though as he returned his wallet to his jacket pocket, he flapped his lapels in place, allowing the barest glimpse of the pistol under his arm to the other men at the table. He was not there to get fucked with.

He sat back as the game got started, more observing than playing. Timmy kept up a good rapport with the rest of the table; he knew a couple and didn’t know the others, but he was charming and disarming, luring the two who didn’t know him into a false sense of security. Without ever having to lie about his abilities. And if Armie had been there to actually play poker, he probably would have been caught up as well. Hook, line, and sinker.

Several minutes into the game, as they watched a hand in which they’d both already folded, Timmy glanced at him, furrowing his brows.

“What?” he whispered.

Armie smiled and shook his head. He hadn’t even realized he was staring. But who could blame him? Barely old enough to gamble, but Timmy was beating the pants off these men, slowly but surely. And the most amazing thing was (it took several hands for Armie to figure it out), he didn’t play the cards. He played the people. He read them like a book. Probably read Armie like a book.

And concluded that Armie wanted to fuck him.

_Uh oh._

Armie’s text alert pinged.

“Uh oh.” Timmy tutted, wagging a finger in Armie’s direction. “Someone forgot to turn off their ringer.”

“Sorry.” Armie pulled his phone from his pocket. A text from his girlfriend.

_**Where the fuck are you?** _

“Sir. No phones at the table.”

“Right.” Armie stood. “I need to answer this. I’ll be right back.”

He looked to Timmy, who was shuffling a chip through his fingers, cheek propped on the heel of his hand. He didn’t even acknowledge Armie’s presence.

Once out in the hall, Armie fired off a quick text—

_**Something came up** _

—and went back to the game.

As Armie sat, and the dealer dealt the pocket cards, Timmy rapped a knuckle against the phone in Armie’s pocket. “Armie’s got a nice beard, dontcha think?”

As the peanut gallery murmured, Armie ran his palm over his stubble. “It’s not a beard.”

One corner of Timmy’s mouth twitched with mischief. “Not yet.”

Armie turned sideways in his chair to face Timmy. “I haven’t had a chance to shave today.”

Timmy grazed his knuckles over Armie’s cheek. “Maybe you should keep it for a while. I’d like to see how it looks on you.”

Armie had to dig his fingers into his own thighs. _Kinky bastard._ “Awfully confident, aren’t you? What makes you think I’ll be around that long?”

Timmy’s smile was smug, flirty. The kind that could make a man forget where he was.

“Tim,” the dealer interrupted. “It’s to you.”

Without breaking eye contact, Timmy brought his cards to his chest, glanced down for just a moment, and set them down. “All in.”

Armie shifted in his chair and cleared his throat before lifting one corner of his cards. Pocket rockets. How the hell was he supposed to fold that? “How much do you have there?”

“More than you,” came the smug reply. Timmy leaned his cheek on his fist, elbow slid far across the table like it was all that was holding him up, though it was obviously a purposeful posture. His brows popped up and down.

_That little…_

Armie did a quick count of his chips. “I’ve got about eighteen-hundred.”

“So, you’re in?”

Armie got the distinct feeling that they weren’t just talking about cards, like they weren’t just talking about facial hair. He swallowed. “I’m in.”

Timmy grinned. “Excellent.”

The other players grumbled or puffed out their cheeks or sighed or cursed, so Timmy flipped his cards up, settling back into his chair with one arm slung over the back, legs wide. King and queen of clubs. So, he had some reason to be smug.

Even so, Armie had an itch in his palms. He wanted to haul Timmy out of that chair and over his lap, strip him of his pants and spank him until his ass was purple, until no one in that room would be able to look Timmy in the eye again. He wanted to kick everyone out, bend Timmy over the table, and lick the abused flesh and everything in between until Timmy was begging. He wanted the sounds of poker chips rattling to get him hard for months to come.

Instead, he flipped over his own cards and returned the smug smile.

Timmy didn’t seem fazed. He just rubbed his hands together. “Oh, interesting!”

The flop came out: Ace, seven, Jack.

Armie cracked his knuckles. He’d be fine as long as a ten didn’t come out.

The turn: three.

The river: ten.

Armie groaned, falling back into his chair, as Timmy calmly gathered up his chips.

“Well.” Armie stood. “It’s been fun, lady and gentlemen. I wish I could have stayed a bit longer.”

The men around the table gave their condolences and shook his hand as the dealer nodded to him and said, “We hope to see you again.”

Armie held back a chuckle. “I’m sure.”

“You don’t want to buy back in?” Timmy asked.

“Nope.” Armie squeezed Timmy’s shoulder, gave him a wink. “Enjoy my money.”

“Oh, I will.”

Armie went back to the bar and leaned against the end until he could get the bartender’s attention and signal for his bill.

The bartender soon returned with his card and receipt. “Tim get you out already?”

Armie chuckled. “How did you know?”

“He has a learning curve.”

Armie shook his head, handing back the receipt before returning his card to his wallet. “He got lucky.”

“That’s what they all say.”

Armie considered retorting, but it would just make him look weak. So, he just nodded to the bartender. “Thanks, man.”

Before he could turn around, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Frank!” Timmy shouted.

The bartender returned and took a hundred-dollar bill from between Timmy’s outstretched fingers. “That was quick.”

Timmy squeezed in next to Armie, though there was plenty of room. “You gotta know when to quit.” He turned to Armie. “Hey.”

“Hey. What was that?”

“He tells me when new people come to the game. Buy me dinner?”

Armie smirked. “You took all my money.”

Timmy smirked. “Not even close.”

Armie faced Timmy, their bodies nearly touching, chest to chest. “What is this? You couldn’t steal my wallet, so now you bleed me dry?”

Timmy rubbed Armie’s lapels between his thumb and fingers, sucking on his bottom lip. God, what a tease. What a spectacular con man. “You can say no.”

And Armie was falling for it. “And then what?”

“Skip to dessert?”

_We’ll see about that._ “Let’s go, then.”

“Where are you staying?” Timmy nudged Armie’s nose with his own.

“No no no,” Armie tutted. “We go to your place.”

“Oh, right. Your…” Timmy scratched at Armie’s stubble.

Armie nodded, drawn into Timmy’s body. He murmured to Timmy’s ear, wanting so badly to take a nibble, to taste the skin behind it. God. Why was he playing into this if he was so sure it was a ruse to get at his money? “And room service, and amenities, and valuables.”

Tim let his head fall back on a chuckle. “Interesting game of chess you’re playing, there.”

“I suppose you’re great at that, too.”

“Only one way to find out.” Timmy grabbed Armie’s hand and dragged him out.

***

Timmy lived in a walk-up studio in Greenwich Village in a cute little brick building on a cute little tree- and car-lined street. Which somehow did not surprise Armie in the least.

It had--probably fake--wood floors, but they only showed in the short entranceway that was really just a space for the bathroom door to go. Most of the rest of the floor was covered in an area rug, dark and thick and cushy. Just past the bathroom was a tiny kitchen with a tiny tile floor, a drying rack by the sink overflowing with clean dishes. In the apartment proper was a futon, currently in couch mode, across from a dresser with a television and laptop sitting on top. Besides a single armchair by the window, there wasn’t much else.

“Maybe pickpocketing _can_ pay the rent,” Armie observed.

Timmy dropped his keys onto the dresser and kicked his shoes underneath. “The roommates help, too.”

Armie startled, raising his eyebrows. “What?”

Tim burst into laughter. “Oh my God. Your face!”

Armie chuckled a bit, shaking his head. “Not nice.”

Timmy slapped at his thighs like he was brushing something off his hands, chewing a corner of his mouth. “Do you want a drink or something? I don’t have an IPA or a scotch, but I’ve got PBR.” He gestured to the fridge. “And water.”

Armie shook his head. It was kind of fun watching him squirm, but they were on his home turf. Why was he suddenly nervous?

“You sure? I might have a bottle of wine here somewhere. Or”--he pointed over his shoulder to his dresser, thumbs hooked in his hoodie--“do you wanna smoke? I got my hands on some medical the other day.”

“No, thanks. I live in California. I can get that whenever I want.”

“Right. Okay.” He nodded. Several times. “Do you mind if I do?”

“By all means.” Armie wandered over and sat on the futon while Timmy fished in the top drawer of his dresser, pulling out a small humidor. Carrying it to the kitchen and setting it on the counter, he pulled out a baggie and some rolling papers and got to work.

Armie just watched as Timmy picked a bud and starting working it apart, the good stuff sprinkled onto the paper, stems and seeds tossed into the sink. He was methodical, engrossed, all trace of nerves erased in the occupation of a task. A tiny sliver of smooth skin showed between his hairline and the collar of the hoodie, and suddenly all Armie could think about was going over and sliding his fingers over that strip of skin. Back and forth, back and forth, until he felt goosebumps under his fingers, until they were both hypnotized by it. Until he could tip Timmy’s chin with one finger to find a slack mouth ready for his own.

His next thought was his girlfriend, surely pissed off for missing their dinner reservation, likely finding her own fling to pass the time and get back at him. It wouldn’t be the first time. They’d both slept with other people since getting together, and neither of them cared. To her mind, he’d be free to do whatever he wanted with Timmy as long as he wore a condom, and as long as it wasn’t more than once.

Maybe it was the sneaking suspicion that he was being conned that made him hesitate, though did he really care? All he’d lose was some money, and most of his cash had already made its way into Timmy’s pocket. Might as well make it worthwhile, right?

And yet, he continued to sit on the futon.

“Are you just gonna sit there and stare at me?” Timmy’s body bowed backward in consternation.

“It appears so, yeah.”

Timmy huffed, sticking the newly rolled joint in his mouth and striding for the window. “Fine.”

Armie propped his chin on his fist. “What is it that you wanted me to do?”

Timmy slid open the window and plopped into the chair next to it, one leg flung over the arm. Lighting the joint, he said with half his mouth, “You know what.”

Armie watched him take a drag, lips pursed, brows knit, grip delicate.

Timmy blew out a violent breath. “Is it the money? You afraid I’m going to steal from you? I’m not.”

“Why are you so keen?”

Timmy took another drag, speaking as he tried to hold his breath. “Have you seen you?”

Armie scoffed. “Please. I’m a dime a dozen.”

“Maybe in sunny California,” Timmy mocked, “with Hollywood stars surrounding you, but around here, you’re a rare treat.”

Armie chuckled, watching his hands rub together between his knees. “That’s because I’m too big for New York.”

Timmy narrowed his eyes at Armie as he took another drag. “Shut up. You know you’re hot as shit.”

Armie gave him a crooked look, hands still clasped between his knees. “Do I?”

Timmy tapped a bit of ash out the window. And kept tapping, mouth twisted to one side. It actually made Armie uncomfortable.

“Do you still think I’m trying to con you?” Timmy finally asked.

Armie shrugged. He didn’t think that was really the reason for his hesitation, but it was easier to tacitly admit than try to suss it out enough to give an actual answer.

Timmy let out a long breath, somewhere between a huff and a groan, and slumped down in the chair until half his ass was hanging off. “Shit, man. What’s it gonna take? You wanna go drop your belongings at your hotel or lock ‘em up in a Penn Station locker or something? I’ll stay here. Tie me up so I won’t follow you if you want.”

Armie’s head popped up like a prairie dog. “What?”

Timmy grinned like the cat who got the cream. “Hit on something, did we?”

“Are you into that?”

Timmy cocked his chin towards Armie. “Look under your seat.”

Armie kept his eyes on Timmy as he reached underneath, grasping a plastic storage container. “What are you, Oprah, now?”

“Just open it.”

Armie stood to make room on the futon for the container, a flat Rubbermaid thing with an opaque lid, as Timmy came to stand beside him, joint still in hand. “Won’t that stink up your place?”

Timmy took a drag through the corner of his mouth and winked. “It’s worth it.”

Armie tossed aside the lid. “Fuck. Me.”

His eyes immediately went to a handful of carefully coiled, undyed braided hemp rope, with a slightly fuzzy appearance from heavy use. That would have been enough to bring Armie to his knees and set his imagination afire, but the other half of the container also held various leather cuffs, nipple clamps, butt plugs, and a small selection of lubes, not to mention two items hiding in drawstring velvet bags.

Armie didn’t realize that his jaw had dropped until he felt the joint pressed to his bottom lip. As he took it and pulled smoke into his lungs, Timmy fetched a rope from the box.

“It’s good rope. It doesn’t stretch or contort too much. Holds a knot well. And soft.” Timmy dragged the bundle over the inside of his wrist. “I have sensitive skin.”

_Shit._ Armie nodded, fingers shaking as he took another drag from the joint, waiting for drug-induced calm to wash over him. He wanted to do it. Had already decided to do it, but it scared him. Was he really going to tie up someone he just met? Someone with sensitive skin and a habit of biting his lips and turning them red and a little swollen as a result. Someone with curls just the right length for grabbing in his fist. Who probably bruised easily, like a ripe peach. Who liked this sort of thing enough to keep supplies under the bed.

When was he going to find that again?

Armie nodded as he took one last drag and handed the joint back. “OK.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to iamjohnlocked4life for the beta.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. :) Chapter 3 coming (har har) soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Timmy wasted no time in flattening the futon and climbing on. “Do you want me naked?”

Armie scratched at his stubble, surveying the contents of the box, trying to decide how to proceed. “Maybe just the hoodie for now.”

Timmy pulled the hoodie from his shoulders and tossed it aside. It landed with a thunk.

_What was that?_

Armie swept the hoodie off the floor, checking the pockets, where he found Timmy’s phone. He grinned. He knew just what he was going to do.

So, he set the phone on the arm of the futon and grabbed a length of rope. Unfurling it and finding the center, he nodded to the phone. “You got a stand for that?”

Timmy’s brow furrowed. “No.”

Armie thought about it, tilting his head from side to side. “We’ll figure it out. Wrists, please. Palms facing each other.”

Timmy offered his wrists, and Armie got to work tying the cuffs.

After a few moments of watching him silently, Timmy chimed, “So you’re, like, _really_ into this.”

Armie cinched the cuffs tight and walked to the head of the makeshift bed to secure the ends, tugging Timmy along with him. “Aren’t you?”

Timmy shrugged, though the crooked smile gave him away. “It’s all right.”

Timmy had to stoop a bit to allow Armie to fasten the ends. “It’ll be more comfortable if you lie down.”

Timmy shuffled back, his jeans bunching up at the knees as he tried to get down to his stomach. Fuck. He didn’t even have to give a command, just a helpful suggestion, and Timmy was putting himself through contortions to comply. He stood still and watched until Timmy was all the way down to his stomach.

“Do you need a pillow?” Armie asked as he fetched Timmy’s hoodie.

Timmy turned his cheek to rest on the mattress. “For my head or…” He lifted his hips and let them drift side to side, his bottom lip between his damn teeth again.

“Whatever makes you most comfortable.” Armie zipped up the hoodie, folded in the sleeves, and started rolling it up against his torso.

“I’m good.”

“Good.” Armie set the hoodie on the armrest, molding it into a shallow U shape, grabbed Timmy’s phone, and set it in Timmy’s hand. “Unlock that for me.”

Timmy set his thumb to the home button, but he asked, “Why?”

Armie took it and plugged in his phone number. “I promise I won’t snoop.”

He added himself as a contact, tapped _Facetime_ , and propped Timmy’s phone against the hoodie.

Timmy’s head popped up when he heard Armie’s ringtone. “What are you doing?”

Armie didn’t reply. He answered the Facetime call, pleased to see most of Timmy’s face on the screen. Just a small adjustment, and it would be perfect.

Timmy’s nose crinkled as Armie adjusted the angle. “Are you Facetiming me?”

Armie nodded. “Put your head down.”

Timmy did so. “I can’t see anything from your camera.”

 _There. Perfect._ He could see Timmy’s entire body in the frame. “I’m not stupid. I keep it covered. Earbuds?”

“Umm… plugged into the laptop.”

Armie glanced over. “No good. I need the lightning cable.”

“Front pocket of my backpack, then. Why am I on Facetime?”

Armie smirked as he fetched the buds and plugged them in. “I’m not leaving if I can’t keep an eye on you.”

Timmy jumped up to his elbows. “What? You’re leaving?”

He slipped the buds into his ears, his voice echoing in them. “Just thought I’d run to Penn Station. You know, rent a locker.”

“Seriously?”

“It was your idea.”

Timmy dropped his head between his elbows and groaned. “Fine.”

Armie carded his fingers through Timmy’s hair, tucking them into Timmy’s t-shirt collar. “Good boy.”

“You’d better make it worth my while.”

“By the way”--Armie flicked two loops on the insides of Timmy’s wrists--“if you need to get loose, pull these.”

“How considerate.”

Armie grabbed a fistful of hair at Timmy’s crown and yanked Timmy’s head back, eliciting a delighted smile from Timmy. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Timmy panted, mouth agape, tongue wriggling at one corner.

Jesus, it was like he was begging to be punished. “Don’t be a sarcastic little shit.”

Timmy didn’t answer right away, and it took Armie a moment to realize that it was because he was enjoying being held still by the hair. Armie scoffed, unceremoniously dropping Timmy’s hair. 

“‘It’s all right’ indeed. You love this shit.” He couldn’t help but grin, watching Timmy’s thighs slide against the mattress, his curls falling into his face as he breathed like he’d just finished a sprint. He peeked at the screen of his phone to see Timmy’s expression of cloudy-eyed awe, already slipping into the sense of calm that came from letting go and letting someone else take over for a while. “God.”

“Don’t go,” he begged.

Armie surveyed the scene, checked his phone again, worried his bottom lip. “Red, yellow, or green?”

“Green.”

Armie gave a single emphatic nod. “Will I be able to get back in the front door?”

Timmy shook his head. “Take my key. On the dresser.”

Armie grabbed it and walked out, locking the door behind him. He lingered there a moment, hand on the door like he could feel the energy emanating through it. On the phone screen, Timmy lilted to one side and rested his head on his shoulder, eyes closed.

Armie trotted down the stairs and out to the sidewalk, where he hailed a cab. Once inside, he muted the conversation.

“Just circle the block a couple times,” he told the driver.

The driver seemed nonplussed, but he started the meter and drove nonetheless.

“It would have been cheaper to take the subway,” came Timmy’s voice in his ear.

The wind rushed from Armie’s lungs. He un-muted the mic. “I couldn’t watch you on the subway.”

“You could.”

If Armie had thought all the air had already been knocked from his lungs, he was wrong. “Fuck.”

Timmy shook a stray curl from his eyes. “So get out of the cab.”

Armie shook his head, forgetting for a moment that Timmy couldn’t see him. “I think that one will have to remain a fantasy.”

“What’s the problem? I’m fully clothed.”

“I gave you a way out. If you’re not going to listen, I don’t have to come back.”

“You have my key,” Timmy pouted.

“Do you think I give a shit?”

Timmy shivered.

Warmth suffused Armie’s body. “There we go. That’s better.”

Timmy propped his chin on both fists. “You could show me to the cabbie.”

Armie glanced at the cabbie. He had to admit it was tempting, but it was too risky here, where he couldn’t guarantee there wouldn’t be legal ramifications. “No.”

Timmy sighed.

“Quite the exhibition kink you’ve got there.”

“And yet you’re giving me no one to show off for.”

“Show off for me.”

Timmy didn’t answer, but it was clear enough that he liked the idea. He ducked his head to tuck his hair behind his ears, and on the way back up, he slid his middle and ring fingers into his mouth. Dragged them out, lower lip catching on the skin. Sucked them back in.

Out.

In.

Like a metronome with the weight on the outer edge. Slow. Rhythmic. His lips slick and shiny with saliva. Breathing in and out through his nose to the tempo of his movements.

 _Yes._

“Show me your tongue.”

Timmy opened his mouth and dragged his fingers out, tongue chasing them.

It was so easy to picture his cock there, glans on lower lip, pink tongue striving to touch every bit it could reach. “Would you let me come on your face?”

Timmy nodded, his fingertips resting on his bottom teeth, gaze dark and unfocused.

“Where else?”

“Anywhere.” His voice was rough, like he’d forgotten how to speak.

Armie’s cock pulsed. He could feel the warm drop of precome soak into his underpants, and it was all he could do not to grab himself in the back of that cab. Just a squeeze would be all he’d need. Just something to take the edge off.

But he let it be. Let the embers glow and enjoyed the burn.

“Show me something else.” Armie surprised himself at the roughness of his own voice.

Silently, Timmy grabbed the armrest and pulled himself up to his knees, shuffling until he could touch his thighs with his hands, the crux of thighs and groin dominating the screen. The bulge was obvious even under the flat light and the relatively poor quality picture, but it was also out of Timmy’s reach.

That was, until his legs parted, bringing himself down to the level of his hands, where he managed to get his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped. He tried to bring his boxers down as well, hooking both thumbs into the front and tugging down as far as his bounds would allow, but he was having a hard time getting them over his erection. Twice he tugged them partway down only to have the waistband snap back.

In truth, Armie couldn’t be sure the thing with the boxers wasn’t just for show. Just something to show how easy it was to turn Timmy’s skin red.

It was working.

Armie muted the phone and tapped on the cab’s partition. “Take me back.”

When Armie looked back, Timmy had pulled his erection through the gap in his boxer shorts and was caressing himself with both hands--soft, hypnotic movements that had Armie salivating.

He shifted in his seat, turning the sound back on. “Can you reach the phone?”

Both hands reached towards the phone, long fingers filling the screen. “Mm hm.”

“Let me see your face.”

Timmy tilted the phone, and the sight was incredible, Timmy’s dark gaze through a curtain of curls, his body rocking slowly. He looked lust-ridden and a little cocky, but there was more to it. His movements were just a little too slow, just a little too dreamy.

God, this stuff really worked for him. It wasn’t just an experiment or a lark. He was fulfilling a deep need.

Just like Armie.

Armie’s only regret in that moment was that he ever got in the fucking cab. He didn’t want to wait to run up there and give Timmy what he needed. His body vibrated with impatience, his fingers restless, tapping against his thigh, his knee bouncing violently enough to rock the cab.

He looked to the phone, hoping to take the edge off, but he only felt frustration that he couldn’t see the whole picture. He could get some idea of what was happening below, but he wanted to _know_.

Next time, he’d put the phone between Timmy’s knees.

Finally, the cab came to a stop, and Armie shoved a twenty to the front. He didn’t ask for the total or ask for change. He didn’t care. He needed to get upstairs.

He smoothed down the front of his suit in an habitual motion as he rushed up the front steps. He unlocked the door to the building and ran up all three flights of stairs to Timmy’s door. He let the key scrape in the lock, and he probably would have loved to see Timmy’s reaction to the sound if he weren’t in such a hurry to get to him.

But then the door was open. And Timmy was looking at Armie, mouth open in an intoxicating display of surprise and want. Armie’s breath was rapid, ragged, and he was sure his expression was feral as he kicked the door closed behind him. He pulled the pistol from its holster, dropped the magazine, and cleared the chamber in one swift motion before plunking all three pieces on the dresser. He didn’t bother grabbing his wallet or clearing any of his other pockets. He just ripped his clothes off.

Normally, he’d take his time, make his partner watch as he carefully untied his shoelaces and hung up every piece of clothing to assure that nothing wrinkled, but tonight, he wanted skin on skin as quickly as possible. He wanted touch and taste and smell.

Once naked, he kicked his clothes and shoes into a messy pile and climbed on the futon behind Timmy, burying his nose in Timmy’s nape as he nestled their bodies, wrapped his hands over Timmy’s hips. And he bit, tilting his head to the side and grabbing the base of Timmy’s neck between his teeth like a cat establishing dominance. It felt feral, predatory, possessive, and it made Timmy shiver. His head drooped to the front, lolling gently from side to side, changing the bite angle and depth with every movement.

Armie let him for a moment, but then he grabbed Timmy by the base of the skull, holding him still as Armie let go with his teeth. “Don’t be greedy.”

Armie could swear the weight of Timmy’s entire body came down on his fingers. He was so pliant; Armie could probably bop him around like a rag doll if he wanted to.

_Gorgeous._

Instead, he guided Timmy’s head forward until his chin hung near his chest, and then he grabbed the hem of Timmy’s t-shirt, pulling it up and over Timmy’s head and down his arms to bunch on top of the rope cuffs. His back was pristine, except for a smattering of moles. If Timmy’d had someone dom for him before, they’d been careful not to leave a mark, which made some primal part of Armie’s brain flash and burn like lightning through kindling.

He wanted to leave marks. He wanted something of his to be present on Timmy’s body forever. A thought that startled Armie, that made his cock throb so profoundly that Timmy noticed, gasping as the tip slid against his bare back, leaving a shiny streak of precome.

Fascinated, Armie grabbed the base of his own cock, drawing tiny swirls of fluid on the small of Timmy’s back. “Can I mark you?”

Timmy nodded emphatically, but then he peered over his shoulder into Armie’s eyes. “Don’t break the skin, OK?”

Armie nodded in return, though he couldn’t quite quash the sinking disappointment. He could cover every inch of Timmy with bruises, and they’d all fade away before long. They’d serve only as a brief reminder, not an eternal one. And he wanted Timmy to remember, to touch some part of himself years from now that would bring a flood of memory.

Armie pressed his crown to the center of Timmy’s back, digging his fingers into Timmy’s hips and watching the delicate arch of Timmy’s back nestling Armie’s cock, fitting together so perfectly. He rocked their bodies together. Once. Twice.

_Beautiful. Beautiful._

Hit with a sudden wild energy, Armie growled, “Brace yourself,” into Timmy’s ear and yanked them both towards the foot of the bed. He grabbed the waistband of Timmy’s pants and boxers. He pulled them down, heedless of where Timmy had his body weight settled, leaving him scrambling to get out of them before he got thrown off balance. And then Armie flipped him over.

He grabbed him by the feet and flipped him like a steak.

Timmy’s chest heaved, his wrists stacked, the cuffs mostly covered over by the t-shirt. His hair had fallen into his face, his eyelids blinking furiously at the intrusion, but he made no effort to move it aside. His knees pulled up. His legs parted. Before Armie could even think to instruct it. Like it was instinctual.

And his cock.

Oh, his cock. Hard and flushed and leaking. It was likely a bit worse for wear after being yanked through the hole in Timmy’s boxers, but it didn’t seem to mind. If anything, it seemed to appreciate the rough handling, curving towards Timmy’s stomach as Armie took it in.

Armie fell forward from the hips, catching himself just before crashing into Timmy’s face, eliciting a startled gasp. He grinned, checking and adjusting Timmy’s cuffs before nudging his nose against Timmy’s, but when Timmy tried to reciprocate, opened his mouth and tilted it towards Armie, Armie denied him. Instead, he latched onto Timmy’s collarbone, scraping his teeth and tongue against it before biting down.

He was salty, the skin smooth as silk on Armie’s tongue, and the moment Armie’s teeth sank in, his hips bucked. To Armie’s surprise, he didn’t moan or shout. The only audible signs that he was enjoying himself were hard, fast breaths through his nose.

Armie eased his weight down to pin Timmy’s hips. “You don’t have to be quiet for me.”

Timmy wriggled against Armie’s stomach. “The walls are thin.”

“Are you trying to tell me you wouldn’t love your neighbors to hear you?”

A twinkle of a smile flitted across Timmy’s face. “There have been complaints.”

Armie chuckled as he laved his tongue over the fresh bite mark on Timmy’s shoulder. He could still feel the indentations of his teeth. Wanting to savor that feeling just a bit longer, he pressed his thumb to the same mark as he picked a new spot near the top of a pale pec. He opened his mouth wide, sealing his mouth to the skin and sucking until he could grasp a good chunk between his teeth.

Timmy tried to buck again, which only served to press his cock to Armie’s stomach, hot and wet, his breath loud in Armie’s ears. Armie’s own hips thrust in response, sliding his cock into the space between Timmy’s ass and the mattress. He could feel the tip of it smear against Timmy’s coccyx, and judging by the sudden broken moan, Timmy felt it as well.

Armie clapped his hand over Timmy’s mouth. “Careful.”

Armie slid his body up a bit, just enough to nestle his cock between Timmy’s cheeks, before thrusting, just to hear Timmy make that noise again. All he got was a tiny, whiny, “Hm.”

“Do you want me to keep my hand on your mouth?”

Timmy nodded.

Armie, ever the boundary pusher, decided to give Timmy a real challenge. He dove straight for the nipple, clenching the areola between his teeth as he teased the tip with his tongue.

Suddenly, heels were digging into Armie’s back and butt. Hot breath gusted over the back of his hand. Soft grunts vibrated against his palm.

With his hand still on Timmy’s mouth and his mouth still on Timmy’s chest, Armie pried Timmy’s heels away one by one and set them on the mattress by Armie’s hips, and finally, with one last lave of the tongue, he released Timmy’s nipple. 

“I don’t want to have to tie your feet, too.” He moved his hand aside to let Timmy speak. 

“Okay, sorry, sorry,” Timmy panted.

“Good.” Armie gripped Timmy’s waist as he slid further down, latching just below Timmy’s sternum, releasing after a moment to admire his handiwork, the way the marks of his canines sunk just a bit deeper into the skin than the rest of his teeth.

He slid down a bit further, biting where lovehandles would be on a man with any body fat. This got a brief yelp from Timmy, and Armie had to grin around the bite. _He was ticklish._

Ignoring the urge to find out just how ticklish for the moment, Armie pressed Timmy’s thighs apart to leave matching bite marks on the inside of each, close enough to his groin that Armie’s cheek brushed Timmy’s testicles.

Half a dozen marks on Timmy’s body wasn’t quite the number Armie was going for, but while he was between Timmy’s legs, where the smell of arousal made Armie’s head cloudy, where precome drew sticky rivulets down the shaft of Timmy’s cock, where his balls were just the perfect size for Armie’s tongue, well, he couldn’t quite resist the desire to taste, could he?

He opened his mouth wide, breathing hot on one testicle before touching his tongue to it, and Timmy tensed. Armie couldn’t hold back a chuckle at Timmy’s presumption, but the fact that he also didn’t try to stop Armie made Armie’s head spin and his cock ache. Such trust. Unwavering.

_Hot as fuck._

Armie licked over each testicle in turn, long slow swirls, just once before wriggling his tongue up the underside of Timmy’s shaft and taking it into his mouth. He bobbed up and down a couple times just to get Timmy wet before tilting his head at the top to peer at Timmy’s face.

Timmy was watching, rapt, a wrinkle bunching the skin above his nose. Armie gave a little suck just to see what Timmy would do and was not disappointed when Timmy’s mouth opened on a gasp. His hips twitched, and Armie could see in Timmy’s face the effort to keep still. And if that weren’t enough, the thighs shaking on either side of his head would have clued him in. So, he decided to test that resolve.

He slid his lips down to the base, and as he rose back up, let his teeth scrape along the shaft.

“Wai--”

Armie’s mouth flooded with come. He struggled not to sputter at the surprise, but he worked Timmy through it, stroking his thighs in an attempt to communicate that he could let go.

Once Armie’s mouth slipped from Timmy’s cock, Timmy pulled his elbows together above his head, leaving most of his face hidden behind his upper arms. “Shit. I am so sorry. It’s just…”

Armie crawled up Timmy’s body until his face hovered above Timmy’s, his mouth still filled with come.

“... the teeth. It surprised me. I--”

Armie pressed a finger to Timmy’s lips, and Timmy shut up, pulling his elbows apart to look at him. As Armie pulled down on his chin, Timmy’s brows furrowed, and he almost spoke. But then, realization dawned, and he opened his mouth wide.

Armie smiled, and he would have called Timmy a good boy if his mouth hadn’t been full. As it was, he lowered his mouth to Timmy’s and sealed them together, letting the come flow between them as they kissed, pushing it against Timmy’s tongue with his own, urging him to swallow. He kept kissing Timmy long after it had all been swallowed, just enjoying plush lips and rough tongue and pliant body.

With one final peck, Armie said, “You’d better be fucking clean.”

Timmy looked like a freshly flicked bobblehead. “I am. I am.”

Armie rubbed his thumb across the bite mark on Timmy’s shoulder, already darkening. “Good.” He pushed down Timmy’s knees and lifted himself over them until he could scoot up enough to straddle Timmy’s abdomen. He spit on his hand and cupped his glans in his palm. “Where do you want it?”

“Anywhere.”

Armie stroked himself, surveying the possibilities, fixating on the four bite marks he could see. He reached behind himself to press his thumb to one of the marks on Timmy’s thigh, and the shiver that slithered down Timmy’s body did it. Armie fell forward, caught himself on the headboard, and came, eyes slitted, open just enough to let him aim for Timmy’s abused nipple. One spurt slashed straight over the bullseye, and Armie let his eyes fall shut to finally lose himself in the orgasm, flashes of their scene playing like a movie on the backs of his eyelids. God, it had been delicious.

Finally spent, he sighed and shifted to Timmy’s side to loosen the cuffs. He pulled the t-shirt free and brought Timmy’s wrists to his chest to check them out, rubbing his thumbs across the red marks left behind.

He kissed the inside of one wrist. “Doing all right? No pins and needles or anything?”

Timmy shook his head, unfocused eyes on the wrist near Armie’s mouth.

Armie brought his mouth to Timmy’s again, gently this time, caressing Timmy’s bottom lip between both of his, a tiny swipe of tongue before pulling back to do it again. He tangled his fingers in Timmy’s hair, his other hand still clasped around Timmy’s wrist.

That was it. He was fucked. How was he to be expected to never see Timmy again?

He pulled back with a sigh, stroking his hand over Timmy’s cheek as he looked to the ceiling like it had wronged him.

“What?” Timmy asked.

Armie ran his thumb over Timmy’s mouth. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

Timmy blushed bright red and rolled towards Armie, burying his face in Armie’s shoulder.

Armie stroked his fingertips over Timmy’s back, enjoying the hum that rumbled against his shoulder. For now, he was just going to bask in the glow. He wasn’t going to think about tomorrow. He wasn’t going to think about obligations and promises. He wasn’t going to think about his flight back to L.A. in just a couple days.

He stroked his fingertips over the bite mark on Timmy’s clavicle. The skin was swollen and dark red, in sharp contrast to Timmy’s skin. He just knew the bruises left behind would be incredible.

He swiped a finger over the top three bite marks in turn. “Will you send me pictures of these in a couple days?”

Timmy poked him in the sternum. “Come see them for yourself.”

Armie didn’t answer. He just kept stroking Timmy’s body. Fingers down his spine. Palm over his waist. Tangling and detangling their fingers. He didn’t want to disappoint Timmy, though certainly Timmy understood that this wouldn’t go anywhere. He knew Armie was from out of town. He knew about Armie’s girlfriend. True, Armie probably should have mentioned their one-time-only deal before letting himself get caught up in the moment, but God, he’d been utterly poleaxed when he opened that unassuming plastic box.

This was ridiculous anyway. Since when did he care about hurting the feelings of a one-night stand? Since when did it bother him to leave after one night? Was it just because of the scene? Because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with someone whose kinks matched up so perfectly with his own? Could he not separate the feeling of responsibility and trustworthiness? Had he just played a psychological trick on himself?

Why did he so badly want to care for someone he just met?

Timmy poked him again. “Stop that.”

“What?”

“Whatever’s making you tense.”

Armie tangled his fingers into Timmy’s hair and kissed his forehead. “Sorry.”

They lay in silence for a couple minutes while Armie struggled not to think, until Timmy finally broke the silence with a long, frustrated sigh.

“Look, I’m not dumb. You don’t have to let me down easy, so stop worrying about it.” He tugged at a tuft of Armie’s chest hair. “You’re harshing my buzz, man.”

“I think I’m just having some trouble separating the scene from real life.”

“It’ll fade. Just, do what you’re supposed to do.” Timmy grabbed Armie’s shoulders and tried to drag Armie on top of himself. “Support me,” he mock whined.

Armie settled himself over Timmy, one leg slotted between Timmy’s, head propped on his own hand. “Better?”

Timmy wiggled underneath him until he settled into what was apparently the optimal spot. “Better.”

He couldn’t quite let go of the nagging feeling in his gut, but for now, it was fun to pretend he’d be here tomorrow. And the next day.

And the next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and many thanks to iamjohnlocked4life for the beta!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and many thanks to iamjohnlocked4life for the beta!


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